Poetry: Isildur's Bane

I have had no time to write or even think about my blog in the past few weeks thanks to lots of work deadlines and a bit of traveling. So, to fill up time, I present you with another old poem I wrote. This one recounts the story of Isildur, son of Elendir, and the Last Alliance of Elves and Men. It is not strictly canon in the Lord of the Rings universe, but that's alright: it's just meant for fun.

As before, I'm not a poet so forgive me if the meter, rhyme, or whatever is not quite right.

Isildur's Bane

Once upon a time long past

Until it vanished from sight at last

There was an old, dark tower

With raw and immense power.

Barad-dûr was its name

And it had always held its fame

Until defying understanding

It was left with no stone standing.

This tower once I saw

And I was filled with gaping awe

At its size and construction,

At its power for destruction.

Great evil lurked here

And nothing would go near

For fear of him

Of whom the Eldar seldom sing.

I shivered at the thought

Of by the tower being caught,

By the dreadful one inside

From whom no man can hide.

The sky grew dark and dreary

And I suddenly felt so weary,

When from the tower a sound

Of a siren shook the ground.

Arrows pierced the air

One almost glanced my hair,

I then realized my blunder,

For Sauron’s forces were strong in number.

In this newly created hell

All I could think of was Rivendell.

When suddenly all was still

As darkness covered every hill.

From the shadows came the one

From whom all mortals simply run;

I was paralyzed with fear

I could see my end was near.

On his finger he had a glowing fire

And I was filled with ardent desire

Of the ring he had in his hand;

That glowing, golden band.

I prepared for a fight,

Even in this little light

I will fight for that ring,

I will become the king.

I could not kill the immortal beast

I knocked it unconscious at least,

With the ring in fist

I looked at the vanishing mist

And saw an old friend

Who had now come at the very end

To warn me of this prize

On which I should not rely.

“Isildur, cast it into Mount Doom

Within the fires of the Cracks of Doom.”

Was his say

On that dark and cloudy day.

I refused; the ring was mine

For it was beyond fine;

I fled the lands and reached the river

When the moon was but a sliver.

Swimming north against the flow

I heard the sound of a bow,

For the ring had made me invisible

But now I was clearly visible.

The ring had me betrayed

And now I was afraid,

For the ring had caught my breath

Yet now caused my death.

As I sank to the river bed

The ring away was led,

As from my chest I bled

My blood, deep red.